from the rear of the shop. “You’re just in time to join the next tour,” Mimi warbled and gestured for waiting tourists to follow her into the residential museum’s entry corridor. Tess was eager to complete her mi ssion to see Josephine’s portrait, but Mimi brought everyone to an immediate halt before an idealized portrait of the building’s creator, the Baroness de Pontalba, and Tess was forced to shift impatiently at the rear of the group.
Tess had to grudgingly acknowledge that Mimi was a raconteur as the little woman seized the group’s attention by pointing to a handkerchief covering the lady’s hand in the po rtrait. “That handkerchief hides the mutilated evidence of an attempted murder,” intoned Mimi, eyes twinkling. She then recounted the melodrama of the Baroness’s life as a pampered Creole heiress who, after an arranged marriage to a French aristocrat, miraculously escaped being shot to death by her crazed father-in-law, who was seeking to seize control of her fortune.
Mimi’s clear enjoyment of her tale of scandal and mayhem gave Tess pause. Was there some similar horror that made her eager to arrange a gossip fest about the Cabreras?
Once her dramatic stage was liberally drenched in blood, Mimi chirped, “After she escaped death and her wicked father-in-law committed suicide to escape justice, the Baroness regained control of her fortune and commissioned construction of these elegant townhouses in the late 1840s. So let’s see the lifestyle of that time.” She hopped up the steps with impressive spryness.
Tess gave the Victorian period furnishings in the second and third floor rooms only desultory glances, lagging the group in frustration. Finally, Mimi gave her a quick, surreptitious nod and pointed wordlessly at a small, age-darkened oil painting in one of the bedrooms. She hustled the rest of the tour into an adjacent nursery, and Tess was left alone with Josephine.
Tess was disappointed to see that Josephine’s portrait was hardly realistic. It was primitive in its perspective, and the human figures were marked by stiff anatomical distortions. Still, the painting had a weird affect. The oversized, central figure, who must be Josephine Chastant, was posed flatly on an undersized rose-silk settee and exuded a Byzantine iconicity. Behind Josephine were a black velvet drape and a fluted Greek column. The column apparently supported a front portico because an outdoor scene stretched out, tilted up like a map on a drawing board to show first a road with a liveried hostler and prancing horse, then a square of green cane field, and last a wavy brown line that could be identified as the Mississippi because of a tiny steamboat set upon it. There was also a distant building with two brick smokestacks, which Tess assumed was the estate’s sugar mill.
It was clear that realism was less important than illustrating the subject’s status and possessions. In the shadow of the drape b ehind the queenly Josephine, there was even a brown-skinned female servant or slave in attendance, seated on a matching pink-silk ottoman.
The long-ago painter had given Josephine a perfect oval face with dainty nose and chin, large black-lashed sherry eyes, and a pink rosebud mouth. The face was so doll-like and expre ssionless that the artist was either untalented or paid to idealize his subject. However, there were odd details that jarred the conventional flattery. Josephine wore a high-necked riding habit of forest green silk. A matching silk top hat with trailing black lace veil perched jauntily on her head. The opulent gown and hat were carefully rendered, so that the dress fell in lustrous dimensional folds, unlike the flat green field in the background. The lace veil swirled behind the head and spilled over the back of the settee to create an intricate dark aura. While Josephine’s left hand rested limply on her bosom and piously fingered a gold cross on a thin chain, the right hand rested on her thigh and
Tess had to grudgingly acknowledge that Mimi was a raconteur as the little woman seized the group’s attention by pointing to a handkerchief covering the lady’s hand in the po rtrait. “That handkerchief hides the mutilated evidence of an attempted murder,” intoned Mimi, eyes twinkling. She then recounted the melodrama of the Baroness’s life as a pampered Creole heiress who, after an arranged marriage to a French aristocrat, miraculously escaped being shot to death by her crazed father-in-law, who was seeking to seize control of her fortune.
Mimi’s clear enjoyment of her tale of scandal and mayhem gave Tess pause. Was there some similar horror that made her eager to arrange a gossip fest about the Cabreras?
Once her dramatic stage was liberally drenched in blood, Mimi chirped, “After she escaped death and her wicked father-in-law committed suicide to escape justice, the Baroness regained control of her fortune and commissioned construction of these elegant townhouses in the late 1840s. So let’s see the lifestyle of that time.” She hopped up the steps with impressive spryness.
Tess gave the Victorian period furnishings in the second and third floor rooms only desultory glances, lagging the group in frustration. Finally, Mimi gave her a quick, surreptitious nod and pointed wordlessly at a small, age-darkened oil painting in one of the bedrooms. She hustled the rest of the tour into an adjacent nursery, and Tess was left alone with Josephine.
Tess was disappointed to see that Josephine’s portrait was hardly realistic. It was primitive in its perspective, and the human figures were marked by stiff anatomical distortions. Still, the painting had a weird affect. The oversized, central figure, who must be Josephine Chastant, was posed flatly on an undersized rose-silk settee and exuded a Byzantine iconicity. Behind Josephine were a black velvet drape and a fluted Greek column. The column apparently supported a front portico because an outdoor scene stretched out, tilted up like a map on a drawing board to show first a road with a liveried hostler and prancing horse, then a square of green cane field, and last a wavy brown line that could be identified as the Mississippi because of a tiny steamboat set upon it. There was also a distant building with two brick smokestacks, which Tess assumed was the estate’s sugar mill.
It was clear that realism was less important than illustrating the subject’s status and possessions. In the shadow of the drape b ehind the queenly Josephine, there was even a brown-skinned female servant or slave in attendance, seated on a matching pink-silk ottoman.
The long-ago painter had given Josephine a perfect oval face with dainty nose and chin, large black-lashed sherry eyes, and a pink rosebud mouth. The face was so doll-like and expre ssionless that the artist was either untalented or paid to idealize his subject. However, there were odd details that jarred the conventional flattery. Josephine wore a high-necked riding habit of forest green silk. A matching silk top hat with trailing black lace veil perched jauntily on her head. The opulent gown and hat were carefully rendered, so that the dress fell in lustrous dimensional folds, unlike the flat green field in the background. The lace veil swirled behind the head and spilled over the back of the settee to create an intricate dark aura. While Josephine’s left hand rested limply on her bosom and piously fingered a gold cross on a thin chain, the right hand rested on her thigh and
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